


Five People Who Told Florence Yes and The One Time She Told Someone No

by ladyemmaline



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson
Genre: Complete bastardization of how chess competitions work, Complete invention of Leonid Viigand's personality, F/F, Florence Vassy: the real hero of Chess the Musical, Please find attached my prospective plot for Chess 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 00:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12179109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyemmaline/pseuds/ladyemmaline
Summary: Or the story of how Florence Vassy becomes World Champion





	Five People Who Told Florence Yes and The One Time She Told Someone No

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ppyajunebug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ppyajunebug/gifts).



**1\. Leonid Viigand**

Florence has flirted with writing a memoir of the World Chess Championships ever since she left Bangkok. She has, as Walter has told her delicately, a unique perspective on the competitors and little else to do with her time now that she is neither corralling Freddie or cajoling Anatoly. As she reviewed the notes she had written during the first Championship, she remembered her old counterpart: Leonid Viigand had been Anatoly's opponent in Bangkok but his second in Merano. The two seconds had spent hours negotiating the details of the match but even longer simply waiting: for Freddie and Anatoly to stop arguing, for documents to be approved, or for decisions from the Arbiter. While Florence's own family was a touchy subject, Leonid had been visibly homesick for his wife, Natasha, and his infant daughter Valentina and had filled hours of dead time with stories about them. Leonid had been a captivating storyteller and, although she had not written to him during the year between Merano and Bangkok, she found that she still remembered enough of several stories he had told her to include references to them in her letter to him now. Her letter expressed condolences for his loss to Anatoly and asked after his family before ending with a request for any information he felt comfortable sharing about their shared experiences as seconds in Merano. Florence was shocked to get a reply within two weeks and even more surprised that the reply included an invitation. In additional to brushing off her condolences and expressing delight that she had remembered so much about his family-now joined by another daughter, Evgenya, much to Leonid's obvious joy-she was promptly invited to reminisce with him in person as soon as her travel could be approved. After signing a frightening contract regarding her possible book, Walter managed to secure a visa for her.

She arrived at Leonid and Natasha's small house on the edge of the Baltic within two months. After collapsing into the bed in the guest room and sheepishly meeting Natasha and their daughters the next morning, Leonid pulled her into his living room, handed her a cup of tea, and gestured to the window, where a chess board had been set up between two cozy looking chairs. "We talk while we play, yes?"

Leonid was an excellent conversationalist-so good, in fact, that Florence was entirely too occupied with arguing about Molokov's conduct in Merano to notice the intrigued looks that he was giving her from across the board as the game progresses. They ended up spending much of the next three days playing chess and talking, Florence frequently digging out her notebook to jot down a detail or anecdote. On the third day, Leonid sat back from the board and gave her a considering look. "Florence, how often do you play?"

She blushed a little. "Not often, now that I’m not anyone’s second. I met Freddie at a tournament but when I started working with him, he was the only person I regularly played against. He used to need someone to practice with--someone who played like whatever opponent he was most worried about, you know--so I would do my best to imitate them for him. I needed to be careful, though.”

“Hmm? Careful of what?”

“Oh, he hated when I beat him. You know how he is; he would throw tantrums for days over it, so I just had to make sure I lost.”

“This is an interesting skill, Florence! Would you mind showing me how you do it?”

Florence smiled, flattered; no one had ever asked to see her parlor trick before, so it was nice of Leonid to express interest in it at all. “Of course! Who do you want to see me play as?”

Leonid requested Lasker to start with, laughing with delight when she completed the impression with a terrible German accent. After the game ended, he requested Capablanca, then Alekhine, then Steinitz. Finally, Leonid sat back from the board and looked her up and down, before extending his hand and knocking over his own king. "You have checkmated me, Florence. That brings our record to... 10 games to 2, I believe. In your favor. You have more than just a talent at this; such skills are what World Champions are made of.”

Florence's heart sunk. This was the first time in a long time she had enjoyed playing chess and now she was struck with the terrible idea that this invitation had been an excuse to evaluate her skills. Perhaps Leonid was thinking of challenging Anatoly again and was scouting for a second? “Leonid... I can't be your second. I don’t want to do that again. Besides,” she continued with a weak laugh, “they’d probably assume I was trying get you to defect.”

He threw his head back and laughed. "Florence, I tried to be World Champion. I failed. But still I have my health. I have my wife. I have my daughters. That is enough for me, I think. No, I do not want to try again. But a woman who has beaten Leonid Viigand, a woman who has beaten Freddie Trumper, a woman who has trained with Anatoly Sergievsky... that is a woman who could be champion."

“I came here so I can write a book. I can’t just abandon that for a ridiculous idea like that, I have to get this book to Global Television.”

“Florence, you don’t have to do anything. You have earned the right to do whatever you want with your life. But...”

“But?”

“But it would be a shame if someone like you didn’t achieve her potential because you spent all your time helping other people achieve success.”

Florence laughed nervously. "Leonid... that is very flattering but... I couldn't. I-I don't-I can’t."

Leonid shook his head once. "Yes, Florence. You could."

* * *

 

**2\. Svetlana Sergievsky**  

Florence had not even known that Anatoly's... Anatoly's wife played chess. He had certainly never mentioned it, although he had also never played a game with her. It was likely, Florence mused, that Anatoly considered women and chess as two separate realms of existence, united only in the degree that he coveted both. Perhaps this visit was a mistake, she considered as her hands moved on autopilot, plucking the black king from Svetlana's outstretched hand. Svetlana gave her a small smile and they begin setting up the board between them. It had been Leonid’s idea for her to go to Moscow; he had contacts there that she would need to talk to if she wanted to mount a serious challenge, he claimed, and before she left he had pressed a phone number into her hand. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Florence, but I think it would be good for you if you talked to her. It would be good for both of you.”

To her great surprise, Svetlana had not hung up the phone immediately when Florence called. She also hadn’t screamed or cursed; instead, she had asked Florence to meet her for tea at a local cafe. When Florence had arrived, Svetlana was already there, halfway through a cup of tea, with a chess set at her elbow. Florence felt entirely wrongfooted, but it was not entirely unpleasant; at the very least, the tea was good.

Svetlana's opening moves were timid but measured-Florence took the first piece, sending one of her knights to take her opponent's king-side bishop. As she moved the fallen bishop to the side of the board, Florence blurted out "I'm sorry" and immediately turned scarlet, piece falling from suddenly clumsy fingers. Svetlana looked up at her through blonde lashes and replied, as pleasantly as if they were discussing the weather, "it's only a bishop, Ms. Vassy."

Florence blushed even deeper, shaking her head, "not for that. For the, for-I never asked him, never, not until we were already in London, whether he was married. I was selfish and stupid and I'm sorry and I didn't even come here to say that, I don’t know why I came here at all-" she stopped when she felt Svetlana reach across the table and lay a hand on her forearm.

"Ms. Vassy-or, can I call you Florence? You're welcome to call me Sveta if you like" Florence nodded, surprised into silence "Florence, I'm not going to insult you by saying I never blamed you for any of it, but I hope you'll believe me when I say that I've forgiven you." Florence felt tears begin to well up in her eyes as Sveta gave her arm a gentle pat and turned back to the game. As the game progressed, Florence had to leave her guilty conscience behind and concentrate; Sveta is good. She’s not quite in league with Freddie, her only chess partner for many years, or Anatoly, whose games she had watched and analyzed and obsessed over for several more, but talented. As if to answer her thoughts, Sveta said "I played a lot when I was younger, on the children's circuit and then the women's competitions. Not at his level of course, and I'm quite rusty, but I take the chances to play when I can." Sveta executed a tricky maneuver but Florence countered easily; she thought she had Sveta's king boxed into a corner.

"You're quite good, Florence," Sveta commented with a smile. "Although that's not shocking for the second to two World Champions, of course. I'm surprised I never saw you at any competitions." Her smile turned a little more wicked as she added, “of course, given what Leonid tells me, I expect I’ll be seeing you at a lot of competitions soon.”

Florence turned white. “He told you?”

Sveta laughed, not unkindly. “We’re old friends! Our country may be big but the chess community is small. You get in the habit of seeing the same faces over and over again, and he’s far more interesting than any of the other players who barely look up from their boards.” Silence stretched between them as they both gazed back at the board between them. Florence broke it first.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve always had someone else to be helping, someone else to push forward. I don’t know how to-I don’t know how to be like this.” Her voice broke on the last word and she realized, distantly, that she was crying.

“Oh, Florence,” Sveta rummaged in her purse and then passed her a handkerchief. Once Florence had wiped her eyes, Sveta took her hands in hers. “Oh, dear, I know I’m no chess champion,” and there was a little bit of brittleness underlying those words, a sense that this was a wound that Sveta had learned to put out in the open to make it less of a target, “but I think you’ll be just fine.” After a minute or two, Florence was able to compose herself and they returned to the game. After Florence won, Sveta expressed her regrets that she had to be going so soon to pick her children up from school and began to gather her things.

As they walked out the door, Florence turned to her and said, “thank you so much for the invitation. It was wonderful to meet you under more pleasant circumstances. But…”

“You’d prefer that I didn’t tell Anatoly?”

Florence blushed and looked at her feet. “No, it was stupid for me to ask. Of course you have to tell him. Forget I said anything.”

“Florence,” Sveta touched her arm gently and when Florence looked up there was a hint of a wicked smile on Sveta’s face. “Yes, of course I’ll keep your secret.” She laughed like a bell. “I’d say it serves him right.”

* * *

 

**3\. Freddie Trumper**

Freddie was, as always, a complete nightmare about everything. He'd been sulking for months since he'd heard about her book (still half finished, abandoned in favor of endless practices and pouring over old games) and his mere presence in her living room had taken weeks of cajoling. She hadn't thought he would show up, actually, so she hadn't had time to hide the evidence of her work before he arrived. He was currently ignoring her attempts to engage in pleasantries and examining a chessboard on her bookshelf, the game she and Leonid were playing via letter in progress. She went into the kitchen to pour them both a glass of wine (drinking half of her own glass and then refilling it) and when she emerged he was reading from some papers from her desk-records, she realized, of her most recent matches, commentary from Leonid written in the margins. There was hardly a surface of Florence’s living room that wasn’t covered with chessboards, diagrams, or notes; she’d probably have to clear off places for them both to sit. The expression on his face was unreadable as he paged through the notes, tracing his finger across a sketched game in progress. "Florence..." he trailed off.

She steeled herself. "What, Freddie?"

"You're trying to challenge the Russian." His gaze snaps up to met hers. "I thought you asked me here to talk about your fucking book but that's bullshit. You're trying to become World Champion."

"I am." She let her answer hang there, heavy in the air between them, waiting for him to... to be Freddie: to scoff or roll his eyes or say something hateful and try to play it off with a cruel laugh. He didn't. He looked at the pages in his hand like he's looking at a board and chewed his lip, a habit she thought they had broken back long before he became World Champion himself. Florence took a sip of her wine. As the silence dragged on she thought "fuck it" and drained the glass. Another minute went by and she finally broke the silence. "So?" He looked up, eyes unreadable.

"So what, Florence?"

She gestured to the papers in his hand with her empty wine glass. "So, do you think I have a shot?"

He looked back down and a smirk began to spread across his face. "Yes. I think you have a shot."

* * *

 

**4\. Walter De Courcey**

"I suggested you write a book, Ms. Vassy. This," Walter gestured to the document in front of him, "is not a book. It's a disaster waiting to happen."

"Sponsoring my challenge against the current world champion is not a disaster," Florence countered, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve brought you a potential goldmine, Walter.”

"You have no guarantee they'll even allow you to compete. It's unprecedented!"

"Exactly! Unprecedented," Florence grinned, "for a woman to challenge her ex-lover, her former employer, for the world championship? After he left her to defect back to the USSR and return to the arms of his wife? All this playing out across a chessboard in front of TV audiences around the world? Walter, Global Television will be printing money!"

Walter sat back against his desk chair, considering. "If you lose, Ms. Vassy, your book will be worthless. The scandal of your loss will overshadow any of the stories from the Trumper or Sergievsky matches."

"When I win,” she countered firmly, “it will be worth millions."

He stayed quiet for a long moment, his eyes burning into her from across the desk. Florence held her breath. "I wouldn't want to promise anything, but I think we can come to acceptable terms. Yes, Ms. Vassy, you'll get your sponsorship."

* * *

 

**5\. The Arbiter**  

"This is an outrage!" Molokov looks incensed. "We demand you deny this... woman's challenge and ban her from competition. We are here for chess, not to explore Ms. Vassy’s lurid personal life.”

“Ms. Vassy,” Florence interjects, “is here to compete at this ancient and distinguished game that we have all gathered to honor and-”

“You,” Molokov fires back, “are here to infect the institution of chess with an agenda of “women’s liberation” and on the behalf of the U.S.S.R. we respectfully request that this woman be banned from competition. Politics has no place in chess!”

Thankfully Florence’s derisive snort is drowned out by sound of the Arbiter closing the book of regulations he had been pouring over as the argument continued over his head. He looked up. “I have made my decision.

“There is no place in chess for politics, I agree. We come together to promote the institution of chess, not to engage in sociological debates.” Molokov smirked at her. “On the other hand,” He continued, looking across the room to meet her eyes, “Ms. Vassy has presented an impressive record and is a qualified Grandmaster. And, having reviewed the rules, there is no rule preventing her from competing. The rules only stipulate that the challenger must be a qualified Grandmaster; there is no mention of the gender of any participants. Ms. Vassy has made a valid challenge. Will the current world champion be answering Ms. Vassy’s challenge?”

“This is an outrage!” Molokov repeated, incandescent with rage.

With the issue untangled, the Arbiter sounded bored. “I will take this moment to remind you all that should the current champion decline a valid challenge, the title of champion is forfeit. I ask again, will the current world champion be answering the challenge?”

Molokov looked to the corner of the room where Anatoly had been sitting silently for the entire argument. He had not met her eyes since entering the room, but, to be fair, she had been avoiding his as well. “Well, Anatoly?”

Anatoly sighed loudly. “I have already told you that I will accept any… valid… challenges that I receive. It appears that this one has been determined to be valid. My personal feelings on the matter are irrelevant.”

As Molokov began to sputter, the Arbiter raised a hand to cut him off, pivoting instead to rest his eyes back on Florence. “As a valid challenge has been made and the challenge has been accepted, my official determination in this matter is yes, the competition will proceed. My office will contact all relevant parties as to the time and place. Good day.”

* * *

 

**+1. Anatoly Sergievsky**

"Check, Ms. Vassy." Anatoly's face was placid, but there was proud tilt to his head as he surveyed the board in front of him. He sat back, relaxed.

Florence looked down, and allowed herself one bright flash of a smile. "No, Mr. Sergievsky," she extended her hand and oh, he'd seen it now. "I believe it's checkmate."

* * *

**Bonus +1 (Coda to 2.)** “O боже, не останавливайся! Да, да!” Florence’s fingers tightened on Sveta’s thighs and she purred as she felt heels dig into her upper back. “Serves him right” indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclaimer: this not at all how a) chess seconds or b) chess championships work. Credit for the headcanon of Leonid Viigand, super chill family man, comes from ppyajunebug, who has fielded many angry text messages from me about this musical.


End file.
